


What Heart's Ease, Must the Honorable Neglect

by Blaijse



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Angst, Ashara Dayne Lives, Canon Divergence - Tourney at Harrenhal, F/M, Pre - Robert's Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22241107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaijse/pseuds/Blaijse
Summary: Following a foolish yet fruitful dalliance between a betrothed Wild Wolf and a Starry maiden during the Tourney at Harrenhal, to thwart dishonour, a deceitful marriage between the Houses Dayne and Stark was arranged. From which Ashara Dayne and Eddard Stark's love was eventually and tentatively born.Two years since that night, with a spiteful and boastful admission made by drunken Brandon Stark in front of his Tully wife and his father's vassals, that very deceit has come to haunt Ashara and taunt the honour of Ned.Straight up angst... lol.Inspired and drawn from the art that is Dolorous Edditor's 'The Fault is not in Our Stars' which you can find on tumblr.
Relationships: Ashara Dayne & Ned Stark, Ashara Dayne/Brandon Stark, Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark, Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully Stark
Comments: 59
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Fault is not in Our Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/550171) by Dolorous Edditor. 



> Disclaimer: I don't own Asoiaf or absolutely anything pertaining to the series, etc. Mad respect to GRRM and also Dolourous Edditor. As for D&D... get fucked mate.
> 
>   
> Tentatively posting this chapter, before I lose all my courage to do so.

**Chapter One**

_"What is honour, compared to a woman's love?" - George RR Martin._

* * *

Even as a woman grown who’d only seen just nine and ten namedays, Ashara thought herself more strong and experienced than most noble woman.

With her brief tenure serving as a handmaiden to her dear Princess Elia in that cesspool people called Kings Landing, she had quickly learnt to play the game accordingly and quite sufficiently. It had both hardened and equipped her to face many hardships and fraught situations that she handled with grace and swift ease. However, following tonights unruly feast in the great hall of Winterfell, as she now shakily climbed the winding oaken staircase leading to Lord Stark's solar, she’d never felt so helpless and desperate in her short life.

There was no denying she had brought this upon herself, of course with the help of Brandon Stark, but she thought their foolish dalliance would not come to haunt her as two years had passed since that fateful first night of The Tourney at Harrenhal.

* * *

After her innocent dance with a bashful Ned who clearly sought another, Brandon had abruptly cut in, sweeping her out of Ned’s arms and across the floor. Dazed from the constant twirling Brandon led her through, drunk off too many cups of Arbor gold and exhilarated by the revelry around her, she’d willingly slipped from The Hall of one Hundred Hearths with the betrothed older brother. In one of Harrenhal’s many ruined chambers she had thoughtlessly and foolishly lain with the older brother; begetting a child.

Dismissed quietly from kind Elia’s services to thwart her dishonour circulating court, Ashara returned to Dorne with the intention of raising her babe within the safety of Starfall’s walls. Her beloved Dorne was renowned for its acceptance of bastards, yet upon her arrival home, her plans were overruled by her irate Lord father, Ulrick Dayne. After a few ravens exchanged between him and Rickard Stark, to ensure both their houses honour and prestige remained intact, and to keep this slight against the unaware House Tully secret; hers and Ned’s marriage had been arranged. The babe Brandon begot on her, was to be Ned's in name, and all would be righted; any rumours silenced _forevermore_.

For many moons, their marriage was an uncomfortable, cold and unconsummated one. Still quite enamoured with Ashara since and despite the happenings at Harrenhal, Ned had thought himself underserving of her. Thought her to be yearning for and in love with his older brother, the father of her child; and so he refused to share her bed, though it was well within his right as her Lord Husband. In turn Ashara cared not for the father, but she loved her unborn babe and fretted quietly about how her newly wedded husband would treat her child once born. They were fools then, her and Ned; until he gallantly broke their silence where they both realised their concerns were for naught. From then, their union became comfortable and stable. He quickly made his peace with the fact he was to be a father to his natural born niece, and anticipated such with muted delight at the prospect of having his own family. Their marriage grew from strength to strength in the few moons left of her pregnancy.

She had been delivered of a daughter. Named by Ned himself, Lyarra was the most lovely and precious thing that Ashara had ever set her eyes upon, but much to her sorrow and heartache, she did not live for longer than a sennight. Terribly weak and quiet, Lyarra slipped peacefully into the hands of The Stranger.

While she spent many moons, bed ridden with unbearable grief for her beloved Lyarra, a steadfast Ned stood by her. Each evening, he’d return to their shared chambers, weary and worn from the days work, but remained unyieldingly attentive to her needs and woes. Somehow, he’d managed to be constant and gentle with her without shirking from his duties as a Stark of Winterfell.

When the sorrow induced fog eventually cleared from her mind, making her aware and appreciative to his efforts as a husband, she’d realised she returned his tentative love; _desperately_ and _boundlessly_.

Without forgetting her lost child, she looked forward to her life with Ned with hope in her heart and anticipation that vibrated through to her soul.

Only just a moon's turn ago did they finally consummate their marriage, and once that deed was done, they were insatiable; gluttons for one another. Most nights that followed were spent in his arms attempting to beget a child to restart their family. Between her legs, her quiet yet ravenous wolf was a gentle and selflessly giving lover; a far cry from the misleading rumours that painted Northmen as rough brutes who supposedly chased only their own peak. The love they made was thrilling and beyond satisfying. But as it was born out of deceit and dishonour, their love was a fragile one. Not blinded or disillusioned by love as she was by him, though softened by the hardships they braved together, she despairingly knew the weariness that plagued Ned's thoughts and affections for her remained to be a sharp thorn in their marriage.

She had spent this moon tirelessly strengthening his faith in her love; his faith in their marriage, yet after tonight's feast, she dreaded that all her efforts were for naught-

"Lady Ashara?" 

Breaking from her anxiety riddled thoughts, Ashara had not realised she'd been standing outside Rickard Stark's solar for some time, staring aimlessly at the splintering wooden door like a possessed mad woman while Fat Tom who stood guard, watched on concerned by her trancelike stare and inaction.

Nodding to acknowledge his unanswered question, she attempted to compose herself as much as her fear would allow, before shakily reaching to open the unbarred door to Lord Stark's solar, where her husband and good father awaited her presence.

* * *

Her attempts at composure were futile for once she laid eyes on a despondent looking Ned; that desperation which incessantly tormented her since the feast, came back tenfold.

 _No_. She thought. 

She did not know what exactly she was saying no to with her mind running amuck with distress. Was it the agony of what was most likely to come, or was it a refusal to succumb to it?

 _They had worked passed her reckless actions; their love will prevail._ Although full of doubt, she would not accept anything less than that.

Unable to control her emotions and thus her actions, she burst into stride, stalking gracelessly towards her husband who was seated facing towards his father, the oaken table separating the two Starks. Planting herself in the seat next to him, she reached out to grasp his scarred and coarse skinned hand that rest on his knee. Intertwining their fingers together tightly, her other hand atop of their joined ones; she softly traced the veins that laced his knuckles.

Since she discovered herself in love with him, it was her routinely way of wordlessly conveying her love. It was done only in private or under the tables during feasts, as physical affection was unbecoming in the presence of others; but Ashara could care less that she was being desperately tender with Ned in front of none of than the Lord Paramount of the North. She desperately yearned to speak to Ned, but she knew her place as a lady and so she settled for holding his hand, respectfully waiting for the two men to begin their discussion.

An unbearably long and uncomfortable silence remained between the three occupants of the solar for some time, until Ned finally garnered the courage to speak his mind. Without looking up from the table, his firm yet resigned voice filled the air.

"Lord father." he acknowledged solemnly, "I don't know what Brandon thought he'd gain from such a declaration and I don't know why he did it. Whether it be misplaced drunken pride or mayhaps out of spite for me- but the fact stands, it is done." Ashara swallowed painfully eyeing Ned as he took a deep breath before emotionlessly continuing on, "He has claimed Ashara's late babe as his own."

Ned then eyed Rickard awaiting his permission to carry on. With a firm yet gruff nod, Ned quickly got his leave.

"No doubt Lord Tully will soon be made aware of our deceit that kept this secret hidden, and those repercussions will take priority amongst all of the implications Brandon’s admission will bring upon you and our house. So, before you begin to rectify Brandon's actions and this slight that was made against Catelyn Tully, I ask you to consider a simple resolution for my own part in all of this."

Visibly confused by Ned's words, Rickard began to gruffly question "Your part? Son-"

"The honour of three houses and many people has been sullied tonight, including my own" undeterred by the fact he was disrespecting his Lord father by interrupting him, Ned rushed to speak, "But that is beside the point. I was complicit in that very deceit", he paused briefly with a resigned sigh and slightly looked to her lap, unable to meet her beseeching gaze. His voice softened, nearly inaudible "... by taking Ashara to wife."

_Gods._

She was destroyed afresh to hear him call their marriage deceitful; yet she knew it was just that. The two of them had ultimately been coerced into their marriage, but it was Ned that had to bear the dishonourable burden of hers and Brandon's foolishness when he had no part in it. Though he hid it well, she knew their dalliance hurt him as even from a single day of watching the jousts, Ned had been enraptured with her from the first. Dread began to overwhelm her entire being. She could only hope he'd remember and consider that while their beginnings were made with dishonest intentions, it was now undoubtedly and for true; _love._ She desperately sought to gain her husband’s attention, eyeing him imploringly; yet he would not turn to face her. If he would look upon her, she believed she could recapture the man who loved her so timidly.

_Look at me Ned! Please my love, look at me._ She begged in her mind, biting her tongue frightful of where Ned's thoughts had led him.

"I am a man of honour and I believe I need to make my own amends for the dishonourable actions we took to thwart shame" Ned proclaimed with muted pride before smiling ruefully, "Brandon has begotten a child by Lady Catelyn and Gods be good, House Stark will be blessed with many hale and hearty heirs to secure its future for generations to come. I am now but a grown second born son and my place in Winterfell is no longer warranted."

_Please Ned._

"What is it that you're asking for son?"

"I ask for your leave father, to restore my honour...” finally lifting his gaze towards Rickard before resolutely and firmly stating that which her plummeting heart most dreaded to hear,

“I wish to take the black.”


	2. Chapter Two

**"Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same." - George RR Martin.**

* * *

Uncouth for a highborn Lady, Ashara rushed down the rugged and worn hallway of the Great Keep towards their chambers. Uncaring of the appalled looks the guards and servants sent her way; she was a woman despairingly determined to change her husbands mind.

After Ned’s bewilderingly simple statement asking for his lord father’s leave to take the black, she couldn’t remember the rest of their conversation except for Rickard’s reluctant agreement to his son's request. Ned had left the solar with a respectful Nod and without her. He left without even looking at her or acknowledging how his decisions impacted her so grievously. Once she had shaken from her stupefied shock, a patient Rickard Stark gave her his leave silently, and she stumbled out of his solar with the haste of a wolf chasing its prey; searching for her husband.

 _The Godswood_ , that is his place of reflection, he’d be there.

But as she ran into the gated woods and saw the large looming weirwood heart tree with no Stark kneeling in prayer in sight, she was confound with confusion and frustration. She searched Winterfell extensively; from the first keep, the guest houses, the battlements, the crypt, right down down to the newly built sept that Brandon so gallantly commissioned for Catelyn.. Gallant. Ashara scoffed aloud. She would laugh if she were in other situation at that mistaken belief the North held for their beloved Stark heir. The man was far from gallant, and like many coddled noble woman, Catelyn had been naive to think the Septa’s stories of noble men to be true.

 _Except for Ned_. Like Arthur, he was truly gallant and noble; a rare find in all the courts of the Seven Kingdoms.

Upon pushing open the door to their shared chambers she found her husband conversing with Martyn, the captain of Winterfell’s household guard. Their solemn voices tapered off once Ned sighted her standing in the entrance.  
  


“Martyn would you please excuse us both, I need to talk with my lord husband” She asked hoarsely, her eyes not leaving Ned’s form.  
  


At the corner of her eye, she saw the Stark’s captain looked back to her husband for his leave, getting a single Nod in return. Bidding them goodnight with a simply Milord, Milady; Jory swiftly excused himself from their chambers. Neither Ashara or Ned acknowledged his departure. Although they usually kept their door unbarred, she promptly turned to close it and roughly slid the wooden bar in place, ensuring they are undisturbed, or if Ned should try to flee from her. She turned back to face him.  
  


“My lady” The coldness of the formal address sent shivers down her clothed arms.  
  


Gentle with affection, she spoke softly, “We are long wedded and bedded, long past any formalities Ned”.  
  


He gave no reply to her own, and remained content to stand by their chambers hearth that was adorned with intricately carved shooting stars, prowling wolves and weirwood trees. A gift from Rickard Stark marking their marital union upon their arrival in Winterfell from Gulltown. So long ago, when they were too frightful of one another to truly be joined; the sight of it would taunt her, bringing unwanted memories of his dishonour. However, since they made love that first time, she’d come to appreciate the hearth, even took pride in it and dreamt longingly of a future with a litter of their own; wolf pups who howled not to the moon, but to the stars.  
Swallowing a lump in her throat, she tentatively walked towards the sullen form that was her wolf.  
  


“ _Why?_ ” she whispered beseechingly, barely able to get the single word out.  
  


She knew what had caused this mess- hers and Brandon’s stupidity, but she couldn’t fathom _why he would try to set aside their marriage when he loved her and she him_.  
  


“I had no intention of setting you aside Ashara, but our deceit has been found out… and I cannot live without atoning for my dishonour.”  
  


“Then honour the vows we made before the eyes of gods and men!” She insisted passionately as she took his hands in her own. “I know this dishonours you, and I know you feel as though you would look weak to the Northern vassals, the ink is dry and we cannot undo what is already written; I cannot undo my actions” a single tear trailed her cheek as her voice grew hoarse once again, “ but Ned, there are other ways for which we can fix the slight that was made and shame brought upon on our marriage”.  
  


She squeezed his hands in hers as he mulled her words.  
  
After only two years of marriage, she knew Ned like she knew the patterns of stars that lit the Dornish night sky.  
  
He had taken to honour like a man took to the vows of the both the Nights Watch and the Kingsguard; his solemn devotion was for life and everything came second to that. But, she knew even those held to solemn and lifelong vows did not completely adhere to such. Like many who frequented the courts of Sunspear and Kings Landing, Ashara was well aware that the old Prince Lewyn Martell a knight of the Kingsguard had a paramour and she did not doubt that a brood of Sands with the Martell look trailed at the woman’s skirts. It was not much of a secret, and thought it warranted arrest and trial; not one person blinked an eye towards his indiscretion. Hope rushed through her veins; If the noble, Prince Lewyn can balance his duties with that of his hearts desires, so can her honour bound wolf.  
  


“How?" He questioned her before continuing, "Our union was arranged to cover the slight Brandon made against the Tully’s. To set you aside would be the most prudent way of atoning for this mess. ”  
  


“As much as it grieves me, I understand that Ned, but what do you want? For true.”  
  


“What I want- that doesn’t matter, anymore; I must do my duty.” He sighed forlornly. Gently loosening her hands from their tight grip around his, Ned began to walk resignedly towards the door.  
  


“Do not forget, you have duties to me, Lord Husband!” she said quickly as she half ran after him, grasping at his hand to turn him back to her.  
  
  
Once again up close, She saw the conflict in his eyes and the way she effected his resolve, “We can find a balance between both,” she tried softly, “do your duty to House Stark and see through whatever tasks your father sets upon you, that way you have made your amends to the Tully’s without shirking your duties as a husband; my husband”. She squeezed his hands in hers, as if it could convey her need for him, “See reason my love” she pleaded.  
  


“Ashara," He said drily with a small wry smile, rubbing his thumbs against the back her hands that clutched his, "this pains me as much as it does you, but it is the right decision; it would not hurt it was if it were otherwise." He sighed with resigned acceptance. “Beside I have no riches or no lands to promise you… This isn’t ideal-  
  


“ I don’t care about any of that Ned, we can find our own place in this world. Has your honour blinded you so much, I-“  
  


"House Tully will be satiated with the annulment of our marriage. I don't know how my father means repair our relations with the Tully’s nor how Brandon will atone for this,” He mused to himself more than her “but this is what is necessary.” he said almost as if he was trying to reassure himself of his decision. “Besides, there is much honour serving in the Nights Watch, and Starks have manned the Wall since the Dawn Age.” He recited emotionlessly as though it were a quote from a book, “It may not be the case for southerners but for those of the North-  
  


“Stop it! Stop with your damned honour!” She yelled in frustration before growing softer in tone, reaching up to his cheek stroking his stubbled beard, “Seven hells, Ned… I love you” she whispered in earnest.  
  


He smiled softly at her, an apologetic look in his eyes, “And I love you, but-“  
  


The sob that escaped her throat was raw with sorrow and it stopped Ned in his words. Not so unlike Varys the Spider, Ashara fancied herself quite masterful in the art that was intrigue and whispers; she was quietly notorious for being elusive. But in this moment. she bore her absolute all to Ned. She had no need for intrigue in the North, she had no need for it when Ned knew everything about her; and she wanted him to know everything.  
  


“But what, Ned?” She questioned tearfully as she ran her hands from his cheeks to cup the nape of his neck, stroking the small hairs there, “What is honour compared to love?”.  
  


He had no answer for her and he could barely hold her hauntingly purple eyes with his own sorrowful stormy grey. When he reached up to wipe at her tears with a gentle thumb. she in turn grasped onto his hand, staying its place by her cheek so she could aimlessly brush soft kisses on his palm.  
  


When he did speak, it was not the words she desperately wanted to hear.  
  


" _I'm sorry._ "  
  
  


She barely felt the feather soft kiss he brushed against her forehead, before he broke from her hold and swept from their chambers.  
  


* * *

Ashara was no stranger to waking alone.

When she and Ned passed The Neck in their journey from Gulltown as newly weds, each morning she woke alone; her husband rose with the sun and left their shared tent to start his duties and prepare their retinue for the days journey. After learning the days in the North were shorter than those of the south, she attempted to adopt their custom; yet no matter the effort, she was seldom to do so. It did not help that later in their marriage Ned was content to leave her slumbering, finding enjoyment in the sight of her serene form. However these last 7 days were different.  
  
Ned had not returned to their chambers since that night. Where he laid his head each night, she did not know; but she was well aware that he was actively avoiding her. She had spent the first two days seeking out Ned with little luck; disheartened, the spent the rest of the 5 days languishing in their chambers. Most of her nights were sleepless without the comforting warmth of her husband’s arms around her, and she had barely left their chambers for meals nor received those that were sent from Winterfell’s kitchens; no doubt Ned’s doing. He still cared for her, he still loved her from afar; she knew it. But the lack of his presence showed her that his honourable resolve was stronger than his heart’s desires.

This morning, when her maids stoked the embers in the hearth back into a steady flame and silently went about briskly cleaning the chambers, Ashara remained despondently bedridden; gazing aimlessly at the wall with a sick feeling pooling in her stomach. She had been feeling ill these last three days, her stomach abruptly turning even at a slight whiff of any smell; whether it be the food sent to their chambers or the indulgently exotic scented oils she used for her regular baths. When all the maids left in a flurry to attend to the rest of their daily duties, a more familiar one entered with a platter of creamy goats cheese coated in spiced honey, cold cuts of salted meat, freshly baked bread from the kitchens and butter.  
  


“Milady, you must eat something!” Wylla insisted with a soft yet firm voice, approaching the bed with platter, respectful of her sullen state  
  


The devoted handmaiden who was initially intended to be Lyarra’s wet nurse had accompanied her from Starfall. However when Ashara’s daughter departed this earthly world, Wylla remained at Winterfell with her lady; insisting she remain in her services as a maid at the very least. Her family had been the service of House Dayne for many generations; Wylla’s loyalty was unquestionable and she held Ashara’s confidence steadfastly. With the Northerners cold and suspicious of Ashara as a southron; her handmaiden was a great comfort and ease to her heavy heart.  
  


“I don’t think I would be able to keep the food down” Ashara croaked out, eyeing the array of foods offered to her.  
  


“A piece of bread, Milady? Anything.”  
  


After a brief pause she hesitantly conceded with a sigh, knowing it was foolish of her to go without eating another day. Shakily, broke a decent sized piece of the warm crisp bread on the platter Wylla held out to her, before smearing it lightly with butter.  
  


Clearing her throat, Ashara let out a soft murmur of thanks, holding up the piece of bread.

  
“Will you be joining the rest of the ladies today?” She asked Ashara tentatively, referring to the embroidery sessions.  
  
  


Gods did she despised the ‘womanly arts’ that were embroidery, knitting and sewing. All highborn woman were expected to learn and perfect these activities; as were their household duties. As a young girl with a willful and rebellious mind, Ashara missed countless lessons and thus was subjected to many a punishment by the septa charged with her education and upbringing. But as a woman grown, mindful of hers and House Dayne’s reputation and prestige; she attended to her duties consistently and without complaint. She would not allow no other reasons for the Northern ladies to further gossip about.  
  


“Which houses remain at Winterfell?” she questioned her handmaid as she chewed delicately.  
  


“ The Dustins, Manderlys and the Reeds milady.” Wylla stated before getting up to set the platter of food on the table nearby, “Lord Stark insisted they enjoy the hospitality of Winterfell a while longer, as their journeys are longer than the other Northern houses”.

  
“I see”.

  
Ashara considered Wylla’s words carefully. She knew it was craven of her to have spent her all her time confined to her chambers since the night of the feast and she did not doubt the Northerners now thought even less of her as shirked her household duties. Though it was untimely, given the ill feeling in her stomach had not yet abated; she refused to give the other noble women more to gossip about, nor would she allow further shame to plague her husband. After all, despite all the current talks between father and son, she is still Ned Stark’s wife; for now.

  
“ Yes, I think I will.” She said decisively rising from the bed, her stomach flipping at the movement yet refused to show any mind to it, “even if for a short while, I must”.

  
Wylla smiled brightly at her words and determination and rushed to prepare Ashara’s bath and gown for the day’s activities.

* * *

Much to the shock of the highborn Northern women in attendance, she walked in head held high and her features emotionless. The bright chatter she had heard from down the hallway had died down to whispers at her arrival but she remained ignorant of the blatancy of their gossiping. With gossip and rumours incessantly circulating the court of the Targaryen’s, Ashara was accustomed to such situations. She knew that had a Northern lady been in her current situation, they’d wouldn’t be able to hold their tongue nor their emotions compared to her and southron ladies alike.

She had spied Jyana, Howland Reed’s wife sitting easy in a small corner of the room, a decent distance from the rest of hostile eyes of the scandalised Northern women. Taking solace in the small crannogwoman’s presence, she set herself across from her; albeit slowly, conscious of her lightheadedness and the mercurial state her stomach has been in lately.

Ashara had began to swell with Lyarra during hers and Ned’s travels to Winterfell, and upon arriving in the frog infested swamp and bog that was The Neck, she had quickly caught a chill. The terrain and the animals that inhabited the lands were unlike any other she had come across; half drowned trees, breeds of snakes foreign to Dorne, lizard lions and quicksand that shifted in the mirky shallow waters of the marshes. But it was the icy winter wind that had taken her ill. She and her babe would have perished if it weren’t for Ned’s valiant efforts in seeking the help of House Reed.  
  
Led by the small and lithe crannogmen through the perilous swamps, House Reed’s elusive keep had been a welcomed and awed sight for a feverish Ashara; but it was Jyana who had been the balm to her sickness and despair.   
  
Greywater Watch and other crannog vassals sworn to Lord Reed took no maester into their services, instead they relied heavily on the crannogwomen and their skills with working the resources of their lands into medicines. Plastering mud salves onto her sweat soaked skin, Jyana had quickly soothed her fever, and with steaming soups of muddled sour flowers mixed with honey to curve the unsavoury taste, Ashara’s chill abated rather quickly. Beyond thankful for the seamless efforts of the small and strange woman, for the remainder of hers and Ned’s short stay at the floating keep, a grateful Ashara quickly took Jyana into her confidence, and to this day remained in touch through missives.

The two of them had quickly set about to embroidering unfinished items silence. As the crannogwoman busied herself with a ripped tunic, Ashara opted to finish a kerchief for her husband. Jyana had refrained from mentioning or attempting to discuss the happenings of the feast and Ashara was relieved and content to talk about menial things such as their patterns. Though hers was a simple one consisting solely of a grey snarling direwolf, it was intricately detailed. While she detested embroidery, bored with the lack of duties she was assigned compared to the charges she was given at both Starfall and in the service of Princess Elia, she had embroidered many items for Ned and had mastered many forms of the sigil of House Stark. From tunics, various kerchiefs that he alternated in use, right down to a gloriously elaborate cloak.

So unlike his usual solemn and stoic self, Ned had blushed and blustered when she presented the cloak to him. Like many of lords of The North who were able to afford such luxuries, the cloak was heavy and thick for protection against the peril of the winds of winter yet most cloaks she’d seen around the shoulders of the Northrons were plain in colour; a poorly dyed black. Instead, Ned’s was of a rich and dark grey, dyed deep and thoroughly by her own self with the utmost of care.   
  
As it was common and rather fashionable in Southron courts to make personal sigils for sons who were not their father’s heir, Ashara had embroidered two direwolves facing and running towards one another on the back of the cloak, marking his respected and revered place and rank as the second born son to House Stark. Though she amused herself with the thought of using a white thread to embroider the nearly black material, to avoid the cloak standing out too much compared to others, she had opted to use a glossy black thread for the direwolves.  
  
Instead of using pins or leather straps to secure the cloak to the wearer, Ashara had commissioned two snarling direwolf heads in polished metal that were enchased at the top of the front of the Ned’s cloak on opposite sides, facing one another. The width, akin to her dainty wrists and the length, like that of her fingers; the two direwolf heads were linked together by a strong and sturdy metal chain, which acted as sufficiently as pins or ties would do. It was ingeniously subtle in flair, so much so, that it appealed and sparked unusual veiled envy from the Northron lords; who were infamous for their distaste for so called glamour.  
|  
Smiling fondly to herself at the memory she stopped in her needlework; remembering the redness of Ned’s cheeks, his eyes widening in youthful delight as they roamed around his latest and undoubtedly best cloak and the feel of his whiskery beard gently brushing against her chin when he set a deep kiss upon her smiling lips.

Far from the cunningly beguiling girl she had been, her friends from the other Dornish vassals sent to ward at the Water Gardens with her and the Martells, would be bewildered with how she acted and conducted herself as woman wedded and bedded; sincerely polite and demure with no clandestine intentions and solemnly dutiful to the smooth running of Winterfell. Of all her skills that she was renowned for apart from intrigue, it was her resourcefulness and wily nature...

 _yet she remained lost and devoid of a resolution when it came to keeping Ned bound to his marital vows and duties.  
_  
Breaking from her stupor, she looked up to find Jyana eyeing her with knowing yet peculiar look. It didn’t take long for her to realise what was causing Jyana’s discomfort for she soon met the frosty stare of a pair of piercing blue eyes. Though the owner of said icy blues had hair of a fiery red, her obvious ire rivalled that of the glacial temperate of the lands Beyond the Wall. The bitingly acrid look Catelyn sent her was bone chilling, but Ashara kept her remorseful purple eyes locked with hers; she would not allow herself any self pity or allow her own cowardice to continue. If she were to remain a Stark, Ashara knew she had to face the future Lady of Winterfell eventually.  
Yet Catelyn did not move from her place surrounded by the falsely sympathetic northerners, who obviously only surrounded the woman to fish information out of the Tully woman to further gossip about. Some joined the red headed woman in her hostile stare, sneering at her and Jyana, but Ashara remained resolute in her dignity and pride; for that was all she had left. Jyana paid them no mind.   
  
  


A soft, encouraging voice broke through the silence, pulling her from Catelyn’s wroth gaze.  
  
  
“Courage, Ashara” Jyana hushed out, “It has been long since your folly was committed. Face her and let it be done with.” before hesitantly continuing, “Or I fear, this discord will forever plague House Stark.”  
  


Ashara saw the truth in Jyana’s words, she owed it to Ned and his love for his family to lay this disharmony to rest before it escalated further and ruined House Stark.  
  


“You’re right, my friend” She sighed out, “and I thank you for your counsel. However should I approach Catelyn, I would only further stoke her wrath and more so, I would be seen as inciting further discord amongst House Stark. I will have wait for her to come to me…” Ashara admitted in a hushed voice.  
  


Jyana’s lips slightly turned upwards as she nodded subtly, pleased with Ashara’s cautious acceptance of an inevitable confrontation between the two ladies.   
  


“…however long it may be, I shall wait” she finished.  
  
  


Putting her focus back into their tasks at hand, she finished Ned’s kerchief in silence. Apart from the sharp pain of accidently pricking her skin in her haste to finish her latest piece, she found a quiet accord with her needlework. Finishing long before any other, it seemed by Ashara's quick glance around the room at the other ladies handiwork, she rose, bade Jyana farewell and shakily swept from the room before she could hear another murmur of her foolishness.  
  
Despite her quick departure she could still feel the glare Catelyn Stark’s eyes burning into the back of her head. Ashara knew it would not be long till Catelyn sought her out, but she could care less for at this moment she could feel her morning meal beginning to return up.

Turning the corner that placed her out of sight of the other highborn ladies left in that gods forsaken room, Ashara braced herself against the stone wall. Swallowing thickly in an attempt to suppress the urge to retch. She breathed deeply before pushing herself off the wall with as much strength as she could muster. Ashara had managed to stumble out into the courtyard before her sight was suddenly filled with black and she collapsed onto the snowy pavement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess whos back... back again.  
> Shadys back, tell a friend.
> 
> The long overdue completion of chapter 2.
> 
> Suffice to say, 2020 was a bitch. But you all knew that.
> 
> So happy new year. Hope you're all well, even my one troll lol.
> 
> Stay safe and stay at home :)


End file.
